and then it knows that for better or worse our lives are woven together here,

one with one another and with the place and all the living things.”

― Wendell Berry

(sunrise on new fallen snow Nov. 28, 2014, photo by me)

December, the month of the Winter Solstice. Much, but not all of Nature sleeps or slows down. Nights are longer. The air is cooler. By instinct we move inward. It is a time when quiet and stillness come naturally. On the Wheel of Life, winter is the season of rest and preparation for renewed life, similar to how some animals go into hibernation.

Winter is a time of allowing yourself to be softer, quieter. To listen more, to speak less. A time to observe and see the sparkling stars after the sun has set. To see the absolute beauty of the bare, stark branches of the trees against the azure winter sky. It is a time to remember our lives are intertwined with the rhythms of Nature.

For better or worse, as Wendell Berry writes, our lives are woven together. There is no way to say it is not so. We may forget or try to deny, but when the heart is generous, we know.

Our horizons can shrink and creativity can seem to diminish when we forget our inter-connectedness. The compassion and empathy of our common humanity ebbs when we forget that we are woven together.

With the turning of the seasons, the rebirth of light after the darkness of the Solstice, we do have the ability, with continued disciplined practice, to construct new patterns of thought, feeling, and behavior.

So, let’s do it!! Let’s work with the turning wheel of Nature and life and set out on a quest to see, feel, hear and think differently. Release resentments and regrets. Turn from fear and anger to tolerance and understanding. Grow in empathy and compassion. Let apathy turn towards action. Allow hopelessness and routine to soften and be infiltrated by hope and purpose. It can be in any part of your life. It doesn’t matter if it’s big or small, as long as it is important to you.

As you prepare for whatever Festival of Light you celebrate, religious or not, maybe just go outside one night and look up at the stars. Or go outside when it is snowing and close your eyes to hear a snow flake land on a soft bed of fresh snowfall. Look at your partner, your child, your friend, sibling, parent, without speaking, and see and hear them. This is a time for reflection and renewal. A time for mending and strengthening our common threads so the weaving of our connected-ness can grow.

“There are moments when the heart is generous,

and then it knows that for better or worse our lives are woven together here,

Horseback on Sunday morning,
harvest over, we taste persimmon
and wild grape, sharp sweet
of summer’s end. In time’s maze
over fall fields, we name names
that went west from here, names
that rest on graves. We open
a persimmon seed to find the tree
that stands in promise,
pale, in the seed’s marrow.
Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear,
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye
clear. What we need is here.

~Wendell Berry

Fall is turning towards winter. I took this photo near where I work. The honking of the geese seemed disjointed from the smell of brownies wafting through the the air from a lovely bakery next door!

Wendell Berry is one of my favorite poets. His observations and description of the power and wonder of Nature never fails to open my heart.

Harvest is over. The longer nights naturally turn us inward. Time to reflect and remember. Time to wonder about the future. Wendell Berry uses the sunrise colored persimmon to remind us of the gift of life, and of hidden seeds….little bundles of wonder and possibility buried deep inside the ripening fruit. Like all seeds, they carry the promise of the future. The potential to germinate and sprout what will become a new persimmon tree. The future tree found within the seed, that is within the fruit, is the promise of new life, new growth. New possibilities. The tree that stands in promise.

Geese fly over head. Abandon holds them to their way, clear, in the ancient faith: what we need is here.

What we need is here.

If we can only slow ourselves down, to be quiet in our hearts, to see with our eyes clear. What we need is here.

Everything around us reminds us, what we need is here. The wild geese who fly with certainty, following an inner compass. Knowing the way to go. There is the persimmon seed, ready to ripen, soften and grow. It’s all here, around us, in us. There is the inner compass, ready to guide us. Inside of us there is the seed of renewal and awakening ready to come to light, maturing with every breath we take, every beat of our heart.

We hold within us instinct, history and wisdom from the past. We have today to look up and see the geese and to hold and taste the sweet persimmon, and to know and remember. Life, wonder and promise are here today. All around us.